Letting Go
by H. L. Whitemere
Summary: They weren't kids anymore, stealing moments together in the library. He was going to have to let go, but maybe it wasn't going to be as hard as he thought... [DHr to begin]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _I suppose this could be seen as a prequel of sorts to First Impressions, but you don't **have** to read the one to understand the other. The idea kind of popped into my head and wouldn't go away until I had written it - it's not going to be particularly long (probably five chapters at most), but it's starting to get a bit too much to be a one shot, so I decided to post in chapters.  
_**Disclaimer:**_ Don't own anything except the idea._

--

He didn't think anybody else could have the same "work first, everything else later" attitude that Granger had. The kind that was fine when exams were just around the corner and he needed to cram for them, but had proven extremely annoying during the little time that he could spend with her without the two morons interrupting, when work was the last thing on his mind. He had put up with it, of course, there was simply no other way that they could be together without everybody else knowing, which neither of them had wanted at the time. Still, when all you had was a couple of stolen hours a week, you had to take what you could get. As the years had gone by, however, she had shown up less and less, and looked closer to the Weasel than ever, until finally, after the final battle she had gone to him, tears in her eyes, to tell him it was over, that she was with **him**.

He had just looked coldly at her and asked how something that had never actually started could be over.

From that moment he had severed all acquaintance with her.

--

He had been in the main sitting room of Malfoy Manor, gazing into the flickering flames of the fire, when the doorbell rang. Calling for one of his house elves to answer it and tell whoever had come that he was not to be disturbed, he sat back, but the chiming just continued, the person the other side of the door becoming increasingly impatient. Muttering threats under his breath, he lifted himself from his chair and headed to answer it himself.

It had been **years** since he had seen her last, but there she was, on his doorstep. For a moment he just stood there silently, wondering whether he was seeing things. But then came the familiar timid smile, the nervous flick of the hair, the brown eyes filled with uncertainty.

"Can I come in?"

--

He should have said no, should have closed the door the minute he had seen her, but something in him made it impossible. So he let her in, asked her to take a seat, got her a drink - everything a good host should do, everything he had been taught since he was a boy. They sat for a while in silence, although she kept looking at him as if she had something to say but had no idea how to say it. It was only when he grew tired of the silence and started to say something that she told him what she had gone there to say.

"He proposed."

She had said it so quickly that he had almost missed it. The silence returned for a few moments, he swirled the contents of his glass and she pretended to take interest in a large painting that hung above the mantlepiece.

"When?"

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in months, and he took a swig of his drink to cool his throat.

"When what?"

"Don't play dumb, Hermione, it's not your style."

She sighed, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it to herself.

"A couple of hours ago."

These words took him by surprise, and he stared at her blankly. She stood and walked around the room, inspecting the various items he had placed in display cabinets, running her finger along the spines of the leatherbound books that took pride of place in one cabinet. She didn't say anything more. He walked over to where she was standing and grabbed her wrist to turn her to face him.

"Then what are you doing **here**?" he asked bitterly. "I'm sure your fiancée is missing you."

"I didn't say yes."

"I thought things were going great between you two?"

"They **are**, that is, well, he's not **perfect**, obviously, but -"

"But you love him," he finished for her, and she nodded. "Which only further adds to the question of why you're here with **me**."

"I had to know..."

--

What happened next came as a blur. All he could remember was that after she had said those words, she had kissed him, taking him completely by surprise. He had not taken long to come to his senses and kiss her back, hoping that if he put enough passion into it she would stay with him, forget about the other guy. Hadn't she practically admitted to him that she was unsure? That she knew Ron wasn't necessarily the perfect man for her? He had led her over to the couch and lowered her down onto it, looked into her eyes as if to ask permission...

--

When he had woken, the flames in the fireplace had nearly all faded, and he couldn't feel her body next to his, and he wondered whether he had merely dreamt what had just happened. Sitting up, he looked around the room and noticed her figure huddled in a chair near the fireplace, watching him. A smile came to his face, and he made his way over to her, bending down to kiss her once more, but she turned her head away from him, a look of guilt etched across her face.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, perching himself on the arm of the chair, playing with a lock of her hair.

"That...we...that shouldn't have happened," she replied, the guilt now evident in her voice as well as her expression.

"I'm sorry - what?" This time his question was harsh, and he removed his hand from her hair, standing up so that he seemed to tower over her.

"I made a mistake."

"I'm still not getting what you're saying here, Granger."

She winced as he used her last name, the only time he ever did that was when he was angry, when first names were 'too personal' as he had put it once, when she asked him why he insisted on calling her Granger in front of everybody else, but Hermione when they were alone.

"I'm saying I shouldn't have come here tonight."

"So why did you?"

"I don't **know**," she said. "It's just...well with Ron asking me to marry him...and then I thought of **you**...I was just so **confused**."

"Well are you any less confused **now**? Because I'm sure as hell not."

"I just thought if I came here, I could get it all -"

"Out of your system?" She looked at him, shocked, but he just laughed hollowly and continued. "Couldn't be that you're just too **afraid** to say yes to your beloved Weasel, and this has nothing whatsoever to do with what we had, could it? You just subconciously made the decision to screw his worst enemy in the hope that he'll find out and take the proposal back anyway? All to solve your damn **confusion**, never mind who gets hurt in the process."

"It wasn't like that!"

"The hell it wasn't! You just thought you could come here after all this time and I **wouldn't care**, I'd just let it happen? I'd just let you use me for your stupid little games and then not be bothered when you went back to him?"

"No!"

"I think it's time you left."

--

**A/N:** _I'm going to post chapter two in a minute, because those are the two I've got written, but I'll probably alternate between this and First Impressions for a while afterwards, so I can't guarantee a speedy chapter 3.  
Reviews?_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**_ As promised - chapter two!  
_**Disclaimer:** _Don't own the characters, unfortunately._

--

He had seen the announcement in the Daily Prophet the following week - "Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger engaged to be wed". A short article followed, explaining to anybody who had been living underneath a rock for the past five years who Ron and Hermione actually _were_. He had read it interestedly, wondering what the public perception of Hermione was, what she had done with her life since she had walked away from him at the end of seventh year - they had not exactly done much talking when she had turned up unexpectedly. Apparently she was working for the ministry now, in the legal department - probably attempting to pass a law that would give Blast Ended Skrewt's rights, he supposed, or whatever magical creature she was currently fixated on helping. He wondered whether anybody would believe that she had once been involved with him, although he doubted it. Her and the Weasel had been a sure thing since their first year, everybody had known it. For her to have even associated with a Malfoy...it was unthinkable. But somehow, it had happened.

_Never again_, he told himself firmly. _Not after what she just did to you_.

--

He may have promised himself to steer clear of her after that night, but when Potter's head appeared in his fireplace, asking for assistance at the Ministry, he didn't stop to think that **she **would be there somewhere. He had been shocked to discover that he and Harry could actually act civilly to one another - although they would never exactly be best friends after all that they had put each other through, Harry still asked Draco for help on the odd occassion, when he needed 'an expert in those sorts of things', as he called it, never quite looking Draco in the eye when he said it.

--

When he arrived in the atrium through one of the many fireplaces, the first person he caught sight of was Hermione. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, no doubt thinking that he had come to talk to Ron about what had happened. He smirked, _let her think what she will, might scare her into confessing herself._

Harry's office was on the third floor, and Draco made his way down the corridor that was filled with witches and wizards on their way to work. Some of them nodded cordially at him as they passed, some bowed their heads and quickened their pace - the name of Malfoy still hadn't **completely** redeemed itself it seemed. Knocking on the last door in the corridor - although more out of politness than actually asking to come in - Draco pushed it open and strode into the room. An entire wall had been devoted to Daily Prophet cut outs either about, or written by, Ginny Potter, and a large glass case on another wall contained a familiar looking sword, with rubies enbedded in its hilt. Noticing Draco looking at it, Harry walked over, running his hand over the top of the case.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" he said softly. "Of that day..."

"That it does," Draco agreed. "And although I'd love to stand here and reminisce, I was under the impression that you needed me for something."

Harry glared at him, obviously Draco's lack of tact had hit a sore spot. He shook it off, however, and picked up a book from his desk.

"Recognise this?" he asked, handing it to Draco.

"_The Dark Arts and How To Use Them Effectively,_" Draco read. "Interesting title...sounds somewhat familiar."

"It should do - your father wrote it."

"And you want me to do what, exactly - sign a copy?"

"I need you to figure out what it _says_."

Draco raised a single blond eyebrow and looked over the cover of the book, not seeing anything particularly difficult about it.

"Because you've somehow lost the ability to read?"

"Because if you look inside, you'll know what I mean."

--

Several hours later, Draco threw the book unceremoniously onto his desk and held his head in his hands. His father certainly had a talent for ensuring anything he didn't want reading would remain unread - at least by those he hadn't let in on the secret of how to crack the cipher. _Such a Muggle idea,_ he thought, _who would've guessed that they could come up with something like this?_ _And why would Potter expect me to be in on the secret?_

"Need a little help?"

He didn't recognise the voice, and looked up to see a tall woman standing in the doorway. She had dirty blonde hair that fell to her waist, and blue eyes that stared at him from behind a pair of reading glasses. She walked over to the table and picked up the book, looking over the cover with interest.

"Written by Lucius Malfoy - your father?" she asked, her gaze returning to him.

"Yes," Draco replied slowly, taking the book from her hands. "Who are you, exactly?"

She laughed and sat down opposite him.

"Don't remember me do you?" She paused for a moment and took the book back from him, opening it up to a page in the middle and reading it. "Lisa Turpin. Ravenclaw, or at least I was."

Draco tilted his head to one side and looked at her, as if trying to reach into a memory that was just slightly out of his grasp. Leaning forward slightly he clicked his fingers, finally able to place her in his memories of his time at Hogwarts.

"Herbology," he said. "We had Herbology together, right?"

"Right."

"So, what brings you to the Ministry?"

"I work here," she stated, looking at him as though he had gone insane. "Harry asked me to help you out, said he wasn't entirely sure you could handle this job."

"His confidence in me is overwhelming, is it not?" Draco laughed slightly. "So he thinks you can help? With **this**?"

"Well code breaking is sort of my job, you know."

"Typical."

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." he stood up and walked around to her side of the desk. "You were a Ravenclaw, after all. Isn't puzzle solving like your **thing**?"

"Our **thing**?" Lisa asked coldly, before nodding to herself. "Ah yes, like all **brave** Gryffindors are out rescuing **weak** Hufflepuffs from the **evil** Slytherins who are hell bent on destroying the Wizarding World?"

"We weren't **all** evil!"

"And we weren't **all** puzzle solvers!" she shot back, glaring at him. "But seeing as we were reducing the houses to stereotypes -"

"Sorry," The word was out of his mouth before he even realised it, and Draco was shocked to find that he actually **meant** it. "I would really appreciate your help, if you're still offering."

"I'll consider it," Lisa replied. "If you buy me a Butterbeer in the Leaky Cauldron later."

"Deal."

--

In true Malfoy style, however, "a Butterbeer" quickly turned into three or four, and those three or four Butterbeers were soon joined by three or four Firewhiskeys as well. He wondered what he was doing, the night could only end one way - after all, he was Draco Malfoy and she was fairly attractive - then what would happen with his father's book? A one night stand was no way to cement a professional relationship - he had found that out the hard way one too many times.

"Truth or dare?"

The question came suddenly, breaking him from his train of thought.

"What?"

"Truth or dare!" Lisa looked at him impatiently. "Don't tell me you never played truth or dare?"

"Of course I have! Truth."

"What were you thinking about, just then?"

"What's going to happen next," he replied honestly.

"And what might that be?"

"You know..."

"Then why did I ask?"

He explained to her, and in doing so discovered that Ravenclaws were not to be trifled with.

His face hadn't stung so much since Granger had slapped him in third year.

--

**A/N:**_ Reviews? This won't be getting most of my attention, but it won't be abandoned either - maybe whilst you're waiting for updates you could check out First Impressions [my Post DH story following Rose, Scorpius and Albus._


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